


Skye White Rose

by Ladyfiaran



Series: Sol Duga [1]
Category: Anastasia (1997), The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Crossover, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2018-12-25 21:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyfiaran/pseuds/Ladyfiaran
Summary: The Sol Duga rescue Richard III from Bosworth before he is killed and substitute an imposter in his place. When he wakes up, he realizes he is in England of 1966 and is at first disoriented and thinks this is a joke but he gradually comes to accept it. With the help of his new friends and the love of his beautiful Skye Rose, he adjusts to his time but wants to go back and fix what went wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

[I]Somewhere outside Leicester, August 1966[/I]

Ian leaned against his Morris and lit his cigarette and Pierre did the same as they waited for Hugo. "Sometimes I wish we didn't have that bloody rule, it's damn cold here and it's August", muttered Ian.

"We're outdoors in the country of the Midlands, Ian. You're from Yorkshire, you ought to be used to chilly weather", teased Pierre.

Ian exhaled and gave the black-haired man a look. "You're a Northerner yourself, mate. And the bloody weatherman is always wrong", he retorted.

They had drive down from Manchester that morning and they were waiting at the supposed site of Bosworth outside of Leicester. The skies were dappled with lighter and darker areas in different shades of grey and appeared to hang lower than usual as a fine misty drizzle fell down and clung like a gossamer blanket to their skin. The cool but humid air smelled like damp earth and wet grass and somewhere off in the distance they could hear a cow mooing.

There was a quick flash of light and their leader Hugo Letang appeared as he carried an unconscious man in armor. Hugo's ever-changing appearance now showed him as a very tall, sturdy man in simple farmer's clothes with a flat gray cap over his graying-black hair. He looked in their direction and his silver eyes gleamed in his tanned face like the shimmery fins of freshly caught herring, the only clue he wasn't quite a normal person. "This is him, hurry back to Manchester", he said in a deep voice with its odd French-Breton accent.

"We will, Hugo. Au revoir", said Pierre.

"Au revoir, mes amis", replied Hugo before he disappeared before them.

Ian and Pierre laid the man down across the backseat of the Morris before they drove away. "Imagine the coppers' faces if they caught us", said Ian with a wry chuckle.

"Of course, so that's why we must be at exactly the speed limit. Lucky he has a blanket over him", said Pierre.

"He really doesn't look like the bloke in the painting, but then again those paintings were done years after he died. And they made him look like such a bastard, plus I didn't see any sort of hunchback. He wouldn't be wearing armor then", said Ian.

"Shakespeare wrote it almost a century later, no one in living memory knew what he looked like. And Hugo wouldn't have saved him if he was a baddie", said Pierre.

"We'll talk more when we get to the house", said Ian.

Soon they were headed west towards the M6 and had joined up with the motorway headed north towards Manchester. The sky was still grey and rain drizzled onto the glass the bonnet as Ian drove north, careful to keep to the speed limit. The dark blue Morris Minor attracted little attention as Ian was sticking to the speed limit and not changing lanes. An hour later they had crossed the narrow part of the Mersey and were in Lancashire as they continued north towards Manchester, the skies having gotten even more grey and heavy.

Ian drove up to the driveway of a modest red brick house in Didsbury and parked the Morris inside the garage before he turned off the engine. "Bring him up to the room, Olga and I prepared it for him", said Skye, Ian's sister.

"All right, Miss Bossy Pants", he teased.

Skye tried not to laugh as the corner of her mouth twitched. "That's why I'm the head nurse of our unit, Ian. I have to see how badly he's hurt, and if he needs to go to the hospital", she said.

"Is that the king? And how could he get around in that?", asked Alexei dubiously when he saw the armor.

"Sort of, he's not a king anymore. And the armor was custom-made", explained Pierre.

The men carried him upstairs to the spare room on the second floor. Skye and Ian's wife Olga had washed their hands and donned long white aprons over their clothes as they brought him upstairs to the room and laid him down on the bed. "We ought to see if we can get cash for these bloody things", Skye muttered as she looked at his armor.

"Spoken like a practical Yorkshirewoman", teased Olga. 

"Aye, we're a practical, canny bunch. Help me get it off him", she said.

After a few minutes of pushing and pulling, they managed to take off his armor and left him in a thin white linen tunic which covered his torso down to his knees. Skye carefully examined his head for injury as she checked his scalp under his curly black hair and then his face and the back of his neck. She noticed the faint scar on his left cheek and a smaller one on the left side of his upper lip, a few cuts from swords on his arms of which were mostly older but a few that still oozed trickles of blood as Olga handed her a bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze bandages. He flinched as she wiped the cuts with the alcohol and applied bandages, his breath coming out in a shallow gasp. "I suppose they only had boiled witch hazel, this is better", she chuckled.

"Other than the cuts, he's in very good shape. Hugo must have gotten him before the battle became intense", said Skye.

"Then Henry Tudor claimed victory over an imposter. The Welsh git and his pious mother probably thought they defeated the White Rose of York, only we know better", said Pierre with a grim smile.

"I know, but we'll explain everything to him when he wakes up. He'll wake up too early if you don't shut your gobs", said Skye.

"Just because Tanya isn't here, you don't have take over the bossy role, Skye", teased Olga.

"I know, I miss Tanya. But let him sleep", she said as they all left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Richard felt as though every muscle in his body was stiff and crying out in soreness as he slowly opened his eyes. He could feel the soft firmness of a mattress under him and he white sheets were smooth under him and had a pleasant floral scent of roses, not the strong-scented lye normally used. The room came into focus and through the hazy greyness from the window and he could see it was considerably smaller than any bedroom in his castles, but the mattress under him was softer than straw. The walls were painted a soft pale sky blue with white trim and the windows to the left were framed by gauzy white curtains drawn slightly to let in a bit of thin, watery sunlight. In front of his sight a polished dark wooden wardrobe stood with its hinges closed, a chair made of similar dark wood and adorned with an upholstered blue cushion next to it.

Richard made a mental note to thank the homeowner for their hospitality as he tried to sit up in the bed. He winced at the stiffness in his shoulder and was glad he wore his long linen shift with the extra padding for his shoulder as he tried to steady himself in an upright position. His stomach growled and suddenly he realized he was very hungry when he thought back to how long ago he had breakfast that morning, his breath coming out in little shallow gasps as the room gradually stopped spinning.

He sat up with a jolt when he remembered the battle, at least until he had fallen and everything had gone dark. Richard remembered the horse stumbling and then him falling off to the ground, Tudor's men in their green and white livery headed towards him. There was a sharp pain in his head and he felt and saw a brilliant white light which had blinded him.

Richard had a vague recollection of men's voices speaking English with a sort of Northern accent and feeling a rocking motion, two women's voices with the same accent he remembered from his days at Middleham and a young man's voice. Perhaps those are the homeowners, he mused.

The door to the room opened and a young woman entered as Richard looked at her. She wore a long dark blue skirt and a long-sleeved white tunic over it, her honey-colored hair in two braids to her waist as he had a start. "Anne! It's Richard!", he exclaimed.

"Be careful, you might still be weak", she chided.

Richard immediately felt deflated like a child's pig bladder ball when he realized she wasn't his beloved Anne, just a superficial resemblance. "Miss, for a moment I thought you were my lady wife. I cannot thank you for your hospitality enough, I will knight your father or brother", he said.

The young woman chuckled. "This is my brother's house, Your Majesty. And I want to make sure you are feeling better, you were unconscious when they brought you here", she said.

"I am feeling better, but I am hungry. And you are a Northerner, from Yorkshire? What is your name?", he asked.

"Skye Elizabeth Rose Sutherland, Elizabeth is my confirmation name. My father's people were originally from Skye in Scotland, my mother's people are from Yorkshire", she replied.

"'Tis an unusual name, Miss Sutherland. Where am I?", he asked.

"Manchester. But Ian will explain everything later, you are safe here, Your Highness. Olga will make you a cup of tea and you will feel much better", she said.

He nodded. "Manchester, that is in Lancashire? But your family are Yorkists, I need to get back to London, what happened to me? What of Tudor?", he asked in alarm.

"Calm down, Your Highness. Tudor won the battle and my brother and his brother-in-law got you away before Tudor would have killed you. You are safe here", she said.

Richard felt relief, horror, sadness and anger all at once. "Stanley, that lying, cowardly cur. I saw him lead his men to Tudor's side, he signed an oath to be my man. I need to go to London", he demanded.

"It is too dangerous, Your Majesty. And you are still weak, Ian will explain everything", she said.

Richard sighed. "Very well, I want to get out of bed, I am not a cripple", he replied.

To his surprise, Skye extended her hand to help him out of bed. "It is not proper for a maid to see their king like this", he said.

"I am a nurse and I have seen men in a worse state than you, Your Highness. I will get you some clothes, you and Ian are about the same size", she said.

Richard watched as she left the room. Under normal circumstances, he would have been insulted that she didn't instantly obey him but he didn't feel that way towards Skye. Even though she was a common woman and an unmarried maid, Skye had an air of authority about her that made him obey. It reminded him of his own mother and even his sister-in-law Elizabeth, both women having the same sort of authority that made people listen. Skye even resembled both Elizabeth and his beloved Anne somewhat with her long golden hair, but her accent and plain clothes showed that she was neither a Woodville or a Neville, he mused.

Skye returned with a pair of blue trousers and a white tunic as she placed them neatly on the chair. She extended her hand and this time he grabbed it as she helped him get up. His legs were unsteady and his vision was blurry for a moment as she helped him up so he could regain her balance. He realized to his surprise that she was nearly his height and their faces were level, her eyes a shade of hazel with green and gold highlight which reminded him of a cat's. "Are you all right, Your Highness?", she asked.

Richard nodded as his vision steadied and the room stopped spinning. "All right. I'll help you get dressed and show you downstairs", she said.

"Please leave, Miss Sutherland", he ordered.

"I need to help you, Your Majesty. And before you object, I am a nurse and I have seen men in worse states of undress. Plus if you say anything about my virtue, Ian will kill you and I mean it", she said coolly as her eyes turned a sharp lime green.

Richard had to chuckle at her words. "Of course, Miss Sutherland. I do not doubt your virtue, but why are you not married? You are a beautiful woman", he said.

"Thank you, but Ian is already married and his wife is with child. When I find a man who suits me, then I will marry. Right now, I am happy to be a nurse. Stand still", she ordered.

Skye pulled off his tunic and helped him put on the shirt, followed by the trousers. "I will wash your shift later, lucky Ian and you are the same size", she said.

Richard followed Skye out of the room and he shielded his eyes from the bright light of the corridor. Instead of the flickering candlelight, the light came from inside a glass bowl on the ceiling and glowed far stronger than any candle. The floor was very soft with a plush dark blue carpet which felt like overgrown moss on his bare feet and the stairs were also covered in this carpet, the bannister made of dark wood and polished with wax. A tall skinny teenage boy with longish light brown hair sat on a soft chair upholstered in black cloth with small daisies as he looked up from his book. "Oh, good evening, Your Grace", he said as he hurriedly got up and took a bow.

"You may sit, lad. Are you Ian?", he asked.

"No, I am Alexei Mayorsky, Ian's brother-in-law, Your Highness. My sister Olga is his wife, she is cooking supper", he replied.

Richard frowned. "I have not heard that name before, but you sound English", he said.

"Our father was Russian and our mother English, my sisters and I all have Russian names. But I assure you, Your Majesty, that we are completely English", said Alexei proudly.

"I like your spirit, lad. This is why I prefer Northerners, too many flatterers in London", said Richard.

"The supper will be ready soon. How are you feeling, Your Highness?", asked Olga as she emerged from the kitchen.

"I am fine, Madam Sutherland. And felicitations to you and your husband", he replied.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Ian ought to be here soon", said Olga. She was blond like Skye and a bit shorter with blue eyes, the white apron stretched over her pregnant belly. He thought Olga was fair as an Englishwoman but her round face with high cheekbones, slightly tilted blue eyes and full pink lips hinted of foreign heritage, wondering if Russian people had those traits.

The door opened and a blond man his age entered the room as he embraced Olga. "Glad you are awake and I hope you are enjoying our hospitality, Your Highness", he said.

"I am, Master Sutherland. You are from the North Riding, correct?", he asked.

"Yes, Scarborough. If there is anything you need, please let me know", said Ian.

"I will have you knighted, Master Sutherland. And I can arrange fine marriages for your sister and brother-in-law", said Richard.

"Thank you for your generosity, Your Majesty. But we will explain everything after supper", said Ian.


	3. Chapter 3

Richard felt full and satiated after supper, the first decent meal he had since yesterday. Skye and Alexei had cleared away the dishes to be washed Olga had gone into the cellar to fetch a bottle of wine. He watched with interest as Ian took out a little box made of a fine grey metal with a painted white rose on top and opened it to reveal little slim tubes of rolled up white paper. "These are cigarettes, it's tobacco rolled up in paper. You smoke them", he explained.

Ian took out one of the cigarettes and lit the tip with a match. A thin ribbon of smoke curled upwards from the end as Ian took a drag and then exhaled. "You inhale smoke, but why?", Richard asked in alarm.

"There's a chemical called nicotine inside the cigarette, nicotine comes from the tobacco plant. Nicotine makes one more alert and awake, plus it relieves stress", he explained.

"Absolutely, brother. I ought to know, I am a nurse", said Skye with a chuckle as she took out her own cigarette case with an enameled white rose on the lid.

"May I see it? The smith who made it is very skilled", said Richard.

Skye handed him the little box. Richard could tell the box was made of tin and the tiny hinges and latch moved smoothly when he gently opened the lid. Inside were little round white pills whose chalky surface gave off a fine dust. "Those are mints, candies. I've quit smoking", she said.

"You got stronger willpower than me, Skye", teased Ian.

"I know. Would you like one, Your Highness?", she asked.

Richard said nothing so Skye picked up one of the mints and ate it. "It's not poison, I don't want to hang or burn", she quipped.

Richard chuckled and took one of the mints. "You are a fine Yorkshirewoman, Mistress Sutherland. I respect honesty in people", he said.

"That's a very old-fashioned idea, Your Majesty. I prefer to be honest and direct, I have no need for an apple", she said.

"No, you don't", he murmured.

Richard ate the mint and the cool, sharp taste of wintergreen pricked his tongue. "I quite like this", he said.

"Better than supper? That was chicken and dumplings, our Mum's recipe", said Ian. 

"I wish I could tell my lady mother I am fine, she ought to be worried", said Richard softly.

Skye saw the pain in his eyes and his bottom lip tremble when he mentioned his mother. Wordlessly, she reached for his hand and squeezed it as he took a deep breath. "I want her to know I am all right, Mistress Sutherland", he said.

"She will know, Your Majesty. Our parents were held captive by very bad men and killed by them, he was the king of our people and the bad men helped overthrow him", said Alexei.

"So you escaped to England?", he asked.

"Yes, Ian and his friends got us out of Russia through a ruse. I wish I could kill those bastards and let them hang from the highest gallows", vowed Alexei.

"I felt the same way when my father and brother were killed at Saddle Castle, but we got revenge at Tewksbury. It was ten years in the waiting, but it was worth it", said Richard with a grim smile.

"I hope you like this, Your Majesty", said Olga as she handed Ian a bottle of brandy.

"It's apple brandy from Normandy, Calvados", he explained.

Skye went into the kitchen and came back with five squat glass tumblers. Ian poured the brandy into the tumblers and handed one to everyone. He took the first sip and everyone followed suit to show that the brandy was fine and not poisoned. 

He drained the last of the brandy from his glass and took a deep breath. "Your Majesty, we need to explain something to you. It's not a bad thing and no harm will come to you, but it will be a shock. Let us all go to the parlor", he said.

Richard immediately felt the back of his neck start to prickle and had a tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach. Under normal circumstances, he would have reached for his sword or his dagger but he remembered they were left behind on the battlefield. "Please do go on, Master Sutherland", he said.

Ian said a silent prayer and looked straight at Richard, the king's green eyes glowing with a laser-like intensity that would frighten most people. "Richard Plantagenet, we are in Manchester England, but this is not the year 1485. We are in the year 1966, and the date is August 25", he said.

Richard blinked rapidly several times as the words hung in the air and echoed in his mind. "This the year 1966? But that is nearly 500 years, that is impossible! What witchcraft is this? You will all burn!", he yelled.

"It is not witchcraft, and there are no longer laws against witchcraft. We are Sol Duga, we are time travelers and we help people", said Ian.

Richard noticed the other man wore a ring with a green stone. "All the full members have one, it's how we travel in time. There are four clans, Sutherland, Letang, Jarvinen and Torres. Skye and myself are Sutherland and I had help from Pierre Lacroix who is a Letang and Juan who is a Torres", said Ian.

"But I am a kind, I need to rule my country. I ought to arrest you for treason, Sutherland", he growled.

"Then you will have to fight against our queen, Your Majesty. You were about to be killed by Tudor's men, you are safe here", said Ian.

"Then Tudor is on the throne, my throne. My claim is stronger than his, the Beauforts are an illegitimate branch. I must get my throne back", Richard declared.

"It would disrupt history, not always for the better. Hugo substituted an imposter in your place so history didn't change", said Ian.

Richard sat back on the couch and his heart raced and his breath came out in little shallow gasps. "This is unbelievable, the most outrageous thing. And that is cowardly to flee a battle, I should have died defending my crown", he growled.

"And been cut down in the mud, stripped naked and flung on the back of a horse like a common thief. You are safe here and no one is coming to look for you", said Ian.

"I see. Madam Sutherland, was your father really the king of Russia?", he asked.

"Yes, but the king was known as the czar. Our father was Czar Nicholas II and he ruled the Russian empire. He was deposed during a war and were put under arrest at our palace and then our family was sent into captivity in Siberia which was very far away. Then we were forced to live in an ugly house where the guards were cruel and horrible to us. Ian, Juan and Pierre found us and got us away with fake papers. But they could only save me and my siblings, our parents were shot by those bastards, pardon my language. They killed Dr. Botkin and Mr. Trupp and Mama's lady in waiting and our Aunt Ella, who was a nun. They killed them all, executed them in the basement like criminals", said Alexei as his blue eyes flashed and his cheeks turned red in anger.

"I understand, your father was the true king and you were the true heir. Our father died to ensure England was ruled properly, not by a half-wit and a she-wolf. But I still have my royal blood and lineage, more than Tudor ever had. I will have to adjust to this, and I want proof that we are in fact in the year 1966 AD", said Richard.

"Good, can we watch Ready, Steady, Go? The Yardbirds are going to perform", said Alexei.

"Of course, you never miss an episode", teased Olga.

Richard watched as Alexei walked over to a large box trimmed with wood and which had a glass square in the middle. He pushed a button and Richard nearly jumped out of his chair when he saw a picture emerge on the glass which moved, a balding middle-aged man wearing dark trousers and a white cardigan jumper standing in front of a crowd of young people. "The weekend starts today! Ready, Steady, Go!", he bellowed as a group of young men in suits behind him played loud music.

"Is that a performance inside the box? Are they trapped inside?", he asked in alarm.

"No, they're in London. They perform and the performance is then showed throughout the country, sort of like light from a lighthouse beamed over a far distance", explained Ian.

"I see. So instead of merely lights, it beams out moving images and music. And you need this box, correct?", he asked.

"Yes. You buy the box and pay the fee and you get the moving pictures. You can also go to a theatre and see the moving pictures that don't appear on the box", said Olga.

Richard winced as the band on the screen began to play very loud music. "Master Alexei, what sort of noise is this? It's like a thunderstorm and their singer just screams", he demanded.

"It's called rock music and that is the Yardbirds, they are my favourite group. I want to play good as Jeff Beck ", said Alexei, pointing to the guitarist with shaggy dark hair.

"This rock music is too loud", he muttered.

"And it's very popular, ever since the Beatles made it big, everyone wants to be in a rock band", said Alexei.

"And blokes in rock bands are popular with the girls", teased Skye as Alexei blushed.

Richard looked dubiously at the group and the girls in the audience who screamed for them. "They are homely and their music is rubbish", he said.

He noticed that Skye was studying the guitar player's fingers as he played, one of her braids coming loose as the blond strands unraveled, the light turning her hair the colour of fresh honey. "I do have a boon to ask of you, Master Sutherland", he said.

"Anything you want, Your Majesty", replied Ian.

"Please call me Richard, and may I call you Ian? I am asking permission to court your sister with the attention of making her my wife..."


	4. Chapter 4

"Ian, I cannot believe you said yes to him! This isn't the Middle Ages", said Skye angrily to her brother.

Ian just shrugged and poured himself a coffee. "Richard is a king, at least in his own time but he is still royalty of a sort. And it's about time you married, Skye Rose Elizabeth Sutherland. You are twenty five years old and you've never had a boyfriend", he chided.

"I am happy being a nurse and I don't have time for a boyfriend, Ian. Women don't have to get married anymore", she said.

"I'm just trying to push things along, Skye. And as a Sol Duga member, you are supposed to have at least one child. Even if you never become a full member, your child may choose to become one", said Ian.

"What about Tanya? She is neither married or has a child", said Skye.

"She knows her duty, she will at least have a child even she never marries. Just give him a chance", Ian pleaded,.

Skye made herself a cup of coffee. The sudden proposal from Richard last night almost made her faint and then Ian's acceptance was nearly too much to digest. "This feels horribly medieval, women can choose whom they marry. But the minute he lays a hand on me or cheats, I want you to kill him or I will do it myself", she hissed.

"That won't be necessary, I have never hit a woman or cheated on my wife. I did have a mistress but that was before I was married", said Richard as he entered the kitchen.

"How enlightened. But weren't women in that time property of their husbands? Many women work and go to university and can vote", said Skye.

"My mother ran our household and managed our lands while our father was away and permanently after he died. Many noble ladies run their estates while their husbands are away or when they die", said Richard.

"But that is among noble ladies, what about ordinary women? Our family is not noble", said Skye.

"You and your family are not noble, but you are better than mere nobles. After all, you can move forwards and backwards in time whereas when I was a king I could not do that", he teased.

Skye tried not to melt at the teasing note in his voice, his lips curled upwards and his green eyes dancing with amusement. "Of course we aren't ordinary, we just look it. I am going to get my brekky and get ready for work", she said as she poured cereal into a bowl and added milk.

Ian made Richard a coffee. "This is coffee, it wakes you up in the morning and later on we'll have tea. Skye is a smart, independent girl, even when we were children barely out of nappies. She's a nurse at a local hospital, she studied nursing at uni. Skye loves being a nurse and is a damned good one, but she's so busy with work she feels she has no time for a boyfriend. That is a man who courts a woman", said Ian.

Richard cautiously took a sip of the milky brown liquid. "'Tis not bad. She is a beautiful and intelligent woman, it is a shame she has never been courted before", he said.

"Richard, why exactly do you want to marry Skye? She is my only sister", said Ian.

"I need a wife and I need children to continue my family line. Edward's sons are all dead and he has nothing but girls, George's son is the only male left of our line", he replied.

Ian looked thoughtful. "Fair enough. But having a lot of girls is no longer a bad thing, any child can inherit according to the parents will. Their family had four daughters before Alexei was born, and the Russian people blamed their mother", he said.

"The same with Edward until my nephews. But I do want children, and last time I heard men still needed women for that. Unless people have found some other way", he quipped.

"No, people still shag to have children. And it's also important in Sol Duga, members must have at least one child unless there is a good reason. Of course, Olga and I are expecting a child and Pierre has a daughter from his first wife and Maria is pregnant, Juan hasn't yet but him and Anastasia aren't married. We will have to speak with Father Jean, he is Pierre's brother and our priest", said Ian.

"And do you work?", asked Richard.

"I am a professor of Medieval Studies at the University of Manchester, school starts again in September", he replied.

"Good morning, Ian and Your Majesty", said Olga as she walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Madam Sutherland', said Richard.

"Please call me Olga, I am not that old", she said as she made herself a cup of coffee.

"Do you need anything, Olya?", Ian asked. 

"I am pregnant, not crippled. And Pierre lives down the road from us plus Alexei is upstairs, after brekky he'll want to practice his guitar. He wants to be a guitarist in a rock band like the blokes in the Yardbirds", said Olga.

"Speak of the devil", said Ian as Alexei entered the kitchen, clad in blue pajama bottoms and a white singlet top.

"Good morning, everyone. I need my damn coffee", he muttered.

"Good morning, Lyosha. When school starts, you'll have to start getting up early", Ian chided.

"Ugh, don't remind me", he grumbled.

Richard finished his coffee and his eyes went wide when he saw Skye in her nurse's uniform. "Put more clothes on! Only I am supposed to see your legs once we are married!", he bellowed.

Skye gave him a look. "This is my nurse uniform, I have to wear it. And the skirt is not that short, young girls wear shorter ones and they are common. Now excuse me", she said as she walked towards the door. 

Richard flushed and his eyes were drawn towards her long legs in white stockings underneath the white skirt of her nurse uniform. "You can stop staring, girls will think you are a creep", she retorted.

"Do you want your patients to have lustful thoughts? Do you provide other sorts of healing? Put on a longer skirt", he ordered.

"Andare all'inferno", she retorted as she left the house and slammed the door.

"Looks like you two are getting along nicely, Richard. She is right, though, that is a nurse's uniform and many women wear even shorter skirts and those are respectable women. And women also wear breeches as well", said Ian.

"This is madness, do men wear dresses as well? It is against the Bible", Richard muttered.

"So is eating meat and cheese together and shellfish, but people do it anyways. And no, men don't wear dresses unless it's for a laugh. After we speak with Pierre, we are going to a barber for a haircut and shopping for clothes. We are the same size, but you need your own clothes", said Ian.

"What is wrong with my hair?", he asked as he touched the ends of his shoulder-length curly black hair.

"It's old-fashioned, men have shorter hair. And it's going to stand out", he replied.

"All right. But I am the only one of my siblings who is dark, the others were all fair", said Richard.

"That happens", said Ian.

"If this is a modern breakfast, I don't like it. Porridge is for sick people", said Richard as Ian took the bowls to the sink.

"People are eating less meat and more fruits and vegetables, the doctors say it is better for you", said Olga as she began to wash the dishes.

"Perhaps. So the water comes from a tank outside the city and you turn the knob and it comes out? Brilliant", said Richard.

"Yeah, and of course we don't use privies either as you can see. Unless you are very poor, most houses and flats come with running water, a bathtub and a toilet inside the house. That's why there are fewer diseases, wastes get flushed to a treatment centre instead of lying about", said Ian.

"Don't remind me, we were forced to use a privy in exile", muttered Alexei as he poured milk on his cornflakes.

"There are many things I need to learn", Richard mused aloud.


	5. Chapter 5

Richard followed Ian and looked about the area with curiosity. On either side of the hard paved street were houses of either brick or painted wood, many which had hedges or rose bushes set on green lawns. It was chilly outside and the grey layered clouds above promised rain as Ian led them down the street to a tidy white wooden house whose front porch held numerous clay pots of aromatic pinkish and purple geraniums. Ian had barely knocked on the door when Anastasia answered it, wearing her trademark tight black t-shirt stretched over her ample bosom and a red plaid miniskirt. "Masha is nursing Kolya and Nicole just had brekky. Are you the king, you don't look like the guy in the painting", she said.

Richard frowned at her skirt which was shorter than Skye's nursing outfit and the black shirt stretched over her chest. "Young lady, you ought to put on more clothes", he said.

"This is fashionable, and Juan likes it. And you are not my dad, you really ought to get with the times", she retorted before leading them inside.

"Good morning, Your Highness. Don't be offended by my sister-in-law, Nastya has always had a big mouth. I am Pierre Lacroix", said the handsome dark man as he got up from the table.

"Very glad to meet you, Master Lacroix. That means The Cross in French, correct? Pardon me for asking, but why do you have a French name when you are English?", asked Richard.

"No worries. My father is from the French part of Flanders and my mother is English, I know French", he said as he extended his hand.

Richard hesitated for a moment before he shook his hand. Pierre reminded him of Edward in his big frame which was several inches taller than his own 5'9 and his muscular body, except he was dark where his brother was fair. Pierre had thick wavy black hair similar to his own and tanned skin, his eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles a vivid purple-blue a shade darker than amethyst. "Very glad to meet you, Master Lacroix. Vous avez une belle maison", said Richard.

"Oui, merci. Your accent is Norman or perhaps Picard. Then again, northern France was English territory in your time. It's French territory now", said Pierre.

"What king lost our territories? That belongs to the English", demanded Richard.

"Most of it was lost by Henry VIII and Calais was lost by his daughter Mary. So it's not your fault", Pierre quipped.

"I don't like France, the people are rude and they don't like the English. We speak French and they're still rude", said Anastasia.

"Daddy, is that the king?", asked a little girl with the same black hair and purple eyes.

"Yes, Nictje. Your Majesty, this is my daughter Nicole Lacroix. Nicole, this is Richard Plantagenet, or Richard III", said Pierre.

"We learned about you in school, the book said you were ugly and had a hunched back", said Nicole as Pierre blushed.

"Really? My shoulders are uneven but my back isn't hunched, as you can see. And while I am dark and my brothers fair, I am not ugly", he teased.

"Nicole, that was rude", Pierre chided.

"No worries, I like honest women. And what book was that?", he asked.

"A play by William Shakespeare, it was commissioned by Tudor's granddaughter Elizabeth. It portrays you as a murderous, ugly hunchback. Unfortunately, it's popular", said Pierre.

Richard frowned. "I suppose I cannot imprison Master Shakespeare for slander", he muttered.

"No, you cannot. Our father could", said Maria as she entered the kitchen holding their baby son Nicholas as their chocolate Lab Hercule followed on her heels. 

"Your Majesty, this is my wife Maria and our son Nicholas and our dog Hercule", said Pierre.

"Very glad to meet you, Madam Lacroix. Felicitations on your son, he is a bonny lad", said Richard.

"Spasibo, your Majesty", she replied.

Hercule looked at the stranger with keen hazel eyes and warily circled about him. "Hercule, hij is een vriend, hij betekent geen kwaad", said Pierre.

Hercule barked and wagged his tail happily and tried to lick Richard. "You speak the Flemish tongue as well, Master Lacroix?", he asked.

"Ja, Nicole's mother was Dutch and my father also speaks it. Hercule only answers commands in French, Dutch or Latin, otherwise he'd obey everyone because he's a friendly dog", he explained.

Richard laughed. "Very clever idea, my dogs only understood English", he chuckled.

Anastasia went into the parlour and came back with manila file and placed it on the table. Inside were a very legitimate-looking birth certificate, a blue British passport, an ID card with a name and his picture and a discharge paper from the British Army. "As of today, you are Richard Plaxton and you were born October 2, 1933 at Tadcaster, North Yorkshire. Your parents were Richard and Cecily Plaxton, your brothers Edward, Edmund and George all died in the war", said Pierre.

Richard carefully looked thought the papers as a strange sensation came over him. Looking at the official papers and documents made him realize he was no longer Richard III, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester and Duke of York, but a commoner named Richard Plaxton. A feverish grin formed on his face and his green eyes glowed maniacally. "I have the blood of York in my veins, sacred Plantagenet and Angevin blood. But now I am just a commoner named Plaxton", he murmured.

"It does take some time to get used to it, we all grew up as the Romanovs with Mama and Papa being the Czar and Empress of all the Russias. But in a way, it's liberating not to be royal. Tsarkoe Selo was a cocoon, a pretty gilded cage. We had no idea how the common people lived, that our people were so poor. Papa meant well but he was not the strongest ruler, and Russia needs a strong ruler", said Maria.

"I understand. But you don't miss being royal, madam Lacroix?", he asked.

"Not quite, we lived in a gilded cage and we had servants and bodyguards everywhere. We actually have more freedom as commoners than we ever had as royals, we can do as we please without it being news. People think we're just ordinary English people", said Maria.

"I will adjust, I always have", said Richard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partying, Northern style :D

"So young people go on this thing called a date without chaperones? But if the boy attempts liberties?", asked Richard in dismay.

"They don't unless the girl lets them. And if she doesn't and he does something, they get arrested. You and Skye ought to know each other and then we'll talk to Father Jean", said Alexei.

Richard looked at his reflection in the mirror. His curly dark hair had been cut and now grazed his ears in a Beatles' haircut and he wore a shiny black mod suit with a white shirt and a skinny black tie, his shiny black boots with a chunky heel peeking out from under his trousers. "This is mod, all the cool guys in London dress like this except for the blokes who like colourful things. I prefer black and dark colours, when I was a baby Mama had me in dresses and bonnets", said Alexei. His tailored mod suit was in shiny dark blue with a white shirt and matching tie, his own boots highly polished and sticking out beneath the hem of his trousers.

Richard took one final look in the mirror and went downstairs when he saw Skye, his eyes raking over her and a rakish grin on his face. "I think I rather like this modern style, you look absolutely beautiful, Skye Rose", he said huskily. Skye wore a forest green crochet dress which exposed her arms and whose skirt ended an inch above her knees to reveal her legs. Around her slim neck was a necklace of chunky polished dark green and black stones and her blond hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves.

"And you look good yourself, Dickon. You look very mod", she said.

"Thank you, Alexei said the same thing. So we are going out to dance?", he asked.

"Yes, first we get supper and then we go dancing at Juan's club, the Wagon Wheel", replied Skye.

"This is far faster than any horse, and one can go from one of England to another in less than a day", said Skye as Alexei got in the driver's side of her green Morris Minor.

Richard sat in the backseat next to Skye. "So when he turns the key, it makes the vehicle move?", he asked.

"Almost, cars run on gasoline and when the brake is released and gas is added to the engine, it moves. Most people have cars, very posh people have more than one", she said.

Richard was startled as the car moved backwards from the driveway and then onto the road. After a few minutes, he realized how smooth the ride was compared to a horse as Alexei drove further down the street and onto the motorway headed towards the city. The car entered the motorway and went much faster as he drove towards the main branch of the motorway and Richard had to gape at all the other cars around them moving just as fast. "You'll get used to it, I drive this way every day on the way to work", she said.

Alexei drove into the city and left the car inside a multi-story car park near Piccadilly station as Richard tried to control his racing heart. "This was a village in my day", he said.

"Manchester became huge in the 1800's because of the factories, it's still the capital of the North. York is just a tourist town, it's a pleasant place to visit but it feels more like a museum than an actual city. I've been there on school trips", said Skye.

"That French bitch hung our father's and Edmund's heads on Micklegate Bar", Richard muttered.

"Wow!", exclaimed Alexei.

"Margaret of Anjou? She was an evil woman, her and her half-wit husband and their psychopath of a son", said Skye in disgust.

"She sounds like a female Ivan, he was a very bad czar. He ordered whole towns killed and killed his own son in a drunken fit, and his half-wit son ruled after him", said Alexei.

"Looks like us English aren't the only ones to muck up a country", said Richard dryly.

The city centre was buzzing this Friday night with young people from all over Greater Manchester and the surrounding towns descending upon the city for a weekend of fun. In spite of the nip in the air and the gathering grey clouds in the sky, the city centre had a festive mood with music blaring from many of the bars and pubs and the young people dressed in their best outfits, the men in Mod and Edwardian suits and their girls in fashionable crochet dresses and miniskirts and heels which exposed their legs.

Skye felt vaguely irritated when Richard kept staring at the women's legs. "I was the same way, Mama and my sisters wore skirts down to the floor and long sleeves. This is much nicer", said Alexei with a grin.

Richard chuckled. He saw that many of the other couples held hands so he reached over and took Skye's hand in his. She was momentarily startled at the feel of his big calloused hand holding hers and a pink blush crept up her neck and up to her cheeks. "Ian says you have never been courted before and I can see that", he said.

"I was busy with uni and my coursework and then my residency and now work. Plus, since I work in Accidents and Emergency, I don't work consistent hours. Come tomorrow, the ward is going to be busy with idiots who went out drinking and did something stupid", said Skye.

"Part of the reason why I don't drink much, alcohol addles your wits. I will have wine or ale, but I dislike drunkenness. That was one of Edward's weaknesses, that and women", said Richard.

"You may not have been born in Yorkshire, but you have a practical Yorkshire mind, Richard Plaxton", she teased.

"Aye, I never did like many of the courtiers in London. Bunch of flatterers and schemers", said Richard.

"The Yorkshire folk are honest, unlike folks down t'south", Skye agreed.

"This is just down the street from the Wagon Wheel", said Alexei as they walked inside a pub called the Crimson Devil which showed a red devil on its sign outside the door.

Richard looked around and saw to his relief that the pub had a vague resemblance to ones he remembered. The interior was cozy with wooden chairs and tables and a polished mahogany bar along one side, the walls decorated with poster adverts for various beers and spirits and calendars of farm equipment and women in bikinis. In the back was a small open space with billiards tables and three dart boards as a group of middle-aged men in flat caps played a game at one of the tables. A radio perched atop the bar was tuned to the Manchester City game at Blackburn as the fat bartender wiped down a mug.

"I've been able to drink legally for two weeks, you need to be eighteen to drink in a pub", said Alexei as they sat down in a booth.

"What would you like, Dickon?", asked Skye.

"Hmm. Do they have the Scottish liquor?", he asked.

"Of course. I'm having a Negroni with Tanqueray, and Alexei will get his usual", said Skye.

Alexei nodded and went over to the bar to place their orders. "The supper special is bangers and mash with gravy", he said when he returned.

"Three orders then. That is sausage with mashed potatoes, that's a tuber that is prepared like turnips", Skye explained.

"All right", said Richard as Alexei went back to place their orders.

A waiter wearing a smock over jeans and a white t-shirt came over to their table with their drinks, a Negroni with Tanqueray for her, and two shots of Cutty Sark and two pints of Carling for the men. "Cheers!", Skye toasted as everyone clinked glasses and drank.

Richard knocked back the whisky and felt the familiar burn go down his throat and then into his stomach. "Very nice, just as I remember", he chuckled.

Skye smiled and took a sip of her drink. "I'm half-Italian and half-English so I prefer something lighter, Campari is Italian and gin is English after all", she joked.

"What is London like?", he asked.

"Bloody huge, the Tower is still there but many of the palaces have been demolished. And it's a real swinging place, all the best bands, the hippest clubs and coolest people are there. I want to go there after I finish school", said Alexei.

Skye just sighed and Richard nodded. "London has bad memories, I'd rather stay up north", he said.

"Same here", agreed Skye.

After dinner, Skye settled the bill and the group walked down the street to the Wagon Wheel. From the outside it looked like a warehouse except for the red and gold wagon wheel out front. Inside, a small foyer manned by a coat-check girl behind a booth led into a large open room with a few tables around the perimeter of a dance floor, a bar along the far right side. A DJ in his booth in the corner spun the latest Motown and American R&B as it played from the speakers. "Glad you could make it, lads", said Juan Torres cheerfully, his arm around Anastasia's waist.

"Of course, the Wagon Wheel is the best club in town", said Alexei.

"And you are Richard Plaxton? How are you finding Manchester and the other side of the Pennines?", teased Juan.

"Yes, and I quite like Manchester so far", he replied. Richard tried not to frown at the sight of Juan with his hand around her waist, his black shiny mod suit and polished black boots along with his swarthy good looks making him look like a gangster. 

"I don't bite, I'm the same lot as them. Since I own a club, I ought to look the part", said Juan with a laugh.

"He's Sol Duga too", Skye whispered.

"I see. Pardon me, Master Torres", said Richard.

"I understand, I don't look at all English. The party doesn't start until later, so just have a drink", said Juan.

"Around eleven, that's when the party starts", said Alexei.

"Oh yes, Juan just ordered a lot of new music from some labels in Chicago. No one else has these songs", said Anastasia eagerly.

Skye watched as the other couples danced as the DJ spun What Becomes of the Brokenhearted. "I prefer to watch people dance, it bothers my shoulders and back", said Richard.

"What does your back feel like?", she asked.

"One shoulder is higher than the other and my clothes are tailored to conceal it. I have learned to deal with it", he replied.

"Later on, let me see your back", she said.

"I am a king, I cannot let anyone see my crooked back", he muttered.

"If I am going to be your wife, I will see your crooked back, Dickon. Such conditions can be corrected with surgery or a brace", she said.

"So you are reconciled to being my wife, Skye Rose Elizabeth Sutherland?", he teased.

"Perhaps. But we ought to get to know each other first", she said.

"I know you have never been courted before, did your father reject suitors? Surely men wanted to court you?", he asked.

She sighed as they sat down at the bar and she ordered drinks, her usual Negroni and Cutty Sark and a pint of Carling for him. "I've been very busy as I said. In fact, this is the first day off I've had in a long while", she said.

"How many hours do you work each day?", he asked.

"It depends, when there's a big accident or a lot of drunks I can work for up to 12 or 14 hours", she replied.

"That's terrible! As my wife, you won't work like that. I will take care of you", vowed Richard as the bartender set down their drinks.

Skye's hazel eyes narrowed into little green slits. "I worked hard in class to get good grades and during my residency, I am not going to give it up so easily", she hissed.

"What about when we have children? Children need their mother", he said.

"Many women with children work, especially if their husband is dead or doesn't work. And once the child goes to school, I will have more free time", she replied.

"I am not going to let my son be fostered out", he said angrily.

"What are you talking about? All kids have to be in school, they go to school in the morning and come home in the afternoon. Fostering is for children with no parents", said Skye.

Richard blushed as he drank his shot of Cutty Sark. "I'm sorry, I misunderstood you. As children, we were sent away so many times and I don't want that to happen to my children. I want my children to have a stable life", he said.

"They will, England is at peace. And what about if we have a girl?", she asked.

"I would prefer a boy, but a girl would be welcome, boys will come. But as long as they are healthy", he said.

"I'm afraid I don't have experience with children, Ian is older and both our parents are only children. The only children I see regularly are Nicole and Nicholas", said Skye.

"She is a very pretty child and her brother looks like he will be a big, strong lad. I lost my only legitimate son and have only my two bastard children, I will be a better father to my children", he vowed.

You Can't Hurry Love by the Supremes came over the speakers as Skye perked up. "Would you like to dance?", he asked.

"Will it bother your back?", she asked in concern.

Richard gave her a rakish grin and his green eyes sparkled. "As long as I have a beautiful girl with me, I will not feel pain", he said gallantly.

"You have quite the way with words, Richard Plaxton", she teased.

Richard got up from his seat and took her hand as he led her onto the dance floor as the DJ played Get Ready by the Temptations. For him, it was tricky at first to dance to the fast rhythm of the song but as he watched the other couples on the dance floor, he quickly picked up the movements. Skye had him place his hand on her waist and spin her around as his lips turned upwards in a grin. Skye just laughed and her cheeks were flushed, hazel eyes glowing with delight. "I rather like this sort of dancing, Skye. It's a lot of fun", he chuckled.

"Same here", she laughed.

The DJ spun The Entertainer by Tony Clarke as Skye showed him how to dance to the slower song. Richard had his hands on her waist and he was pleasantly surprised that he could almost span it with his big hands. Skye just laughed and placed her arms around his neck as they swayed together to the music. Richard felt his heart skip a beat and his breath caught in his throat, the closeness of her body against his causing his blood to race through his veins. "This is how a lot of couples dance", she said.

"For you are a maid, you are playing with fire. Don't start fires if you canna put them out", he groaned.

Skye shivered at the intensity in his voice and how his eyes narrowed and turned a rich green. "I am just giving you a warning, my fair rose maid. For all your education, you are not educated in the ways of men and women", he whispered huskily.


	7. Chapter 7

“What did he mean by that, Olya?”, asked Skye.

Olga looked up from the pink rosebush she was trimming and smiled at her sister-in-law. “Skye, he has a point. You are a nurse and very intelligent but you know little of the ways of men and women. When you were forward like that in front of a man, it’s like dangling a steak in front of a hungry bear. Richard was warning you”, she said kindly.

“I know how people shag, Olenka. And I am not a slut, I was raised better than that”, she hissed.

“Of course you were, Skye. But of course Richard comes from a different time and culture”, said Olga

“Then we ought to just go to the registry office and get married” she muttered.

“I don’t mean that, just be careful and make sure you don’t get burned”, said Olga.

Skye nodded as she took off her shoes and wiggled her bare toes in the soft dirt. It was later that evening after her and Richard had left the Wagon Wheel along with Alexei, Anastasia staying behind with Juan. The sky overhead was inky-black with tiny pinpricks of stars and the thin sliver of a pale new moon providing light. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees and somewhere an owl hooted, the scent of roses in the air. “Olenka, is this a pregnant lady thing? You can barely see the flowers”, she chided.

“I have been wanting to do odd things since I fell pregnant. At least I don’t take to my bed and complain like Mama, God rest her soul”, said Olga as she crossed herself.

Skye lifted the hem of her nightgown so it didn’t drag into the dirt. Olga reminded her of a fertility goddess with her dark blond hair in a loose braid down her back and her pregnant belly straining against the white cotton nightgown. The red and burgundy roses were barely visible in the dimness but the white and pink stood out with their soft petals glowing in the darkness.

The back door opened and Skye turned around to see Richard standing on the porch, clad in dark blue pajama bottoms and a singlet top under a blue and white flannel robe. “Are you all right, Mistress Sutherland?”, he asked.

“Da, spasibo. Ever since I fell pregnant I like being in the garden at night. My mother loved roses, she was raised in England and our gardens at Tsarkoe Selo always had roses. Tsarkoe Selo was where Father had our St. Petersburg palaces”, said Olga.

“How many castles did the Russian king have?”, he asked.

“There was the Catherine and Alexander palaces at Tsarkoe Selo, the Winter Palace in the city, our summer house in Livadia in Crimea, and our Polish estate at Spala, those were the ones we used. Father had others but we never visited them. Unfortunately, they were looted during the Revolution”, said Olga angrily.

“I grew up at Ludlow but my main residence was at Middleham in Wensleydale, Anne and I were so happy there. I never did like London, too big and crowded”, said Richard with a sigh.

Skye nodded in understanding a Richard sat next to her. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders and glowed like molten honey under the pale moonlight and her hazel eyes were thoughtful. “What was Anne like?”, she asked.

A wistful smile formed on his face. “Anne was my cousin and we grew up together, I wanted to marry her but Warwick forced her to marry the Lancaster brat. George tried to lock her up to get her share of the Beauchamp inheritance but I found her in the kitchen of a local inn and we married quickly at St. Martin’s. When we had Edward, I truly felt as though I was the luckiest man in England”.

Richard took a deep breath. “Edward died of sickness while I was in Nottingham and he was at Middleham. Anne and I were mad with grief and then Anne died scarcely a year later from the bloody cough”, he said softly with a catch in his voice.

Skye said nothing as he leaned against her and she wrapped her arms around him as his breath came out in shuddering gasps. “It’s like a wound which grows a thin scab, it looks healed but it isn’t”, he whispered.

Richard lifted his head and looked at Skye, his fingers rubbing the ends of her hair. “Anne’s hair was more brown and her eyes were blue. You resemble her a little bit I don’t want you to replace Anne”, he said.

Skye sat still as Richard continued playing with the ends of her hair. “You have lovely hair, I have seen many golden-haired women but not quite like yours. Edward favored blondes and both Elizabeth and his mistresses were blonde and you are the first golden haired girl I have liked”, he said.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not, most men prefer blondes. I am and have the Sutherland looks, blond hair and greenish eyes”, she said.

“Everyone else in my family is fair, I am the only dark one. Perhaps I have that Welsh blood you mentioned”, he teased.

“Then that would make you part Welsh and me being half-Polish, any children of ours would only be half-English”, she laughed.

“I’m going back inside, it’s getting chilly”, said Olga.

Richard helped her up from the porch and noticed her bare feet. With a sly grin, he picked her up in his arms and brought her inside. “Richard!”, she squeaked.

“You are such a little thing, you are easy to carry. And please call me Dickon, it is what my mother and family called me. My lady mother would only call me Richard if she was mad at me”, he said as he carefully set her down.

“All right, Dickon. And let’s not wake up Ian”, she replied.

“When does his university class start?”, he asked.

“On Wednesday, he’s teaching two classes on the ancient Greeks. You ought to read his books, he specializes in Alexander and Hellenistic Greece”, she said.

Both of them padded up the stairs and he followed her to her room. “Don’t be scared, I will not hurt you”, he whispered.

Skye gave him a tentative little smile as she led him upstairs, pulling a cord as a ladder emerged. “I live in the attic and I pay rent to Ian”, she explained.

Richard followed her up the stairs. Her room was done in pale apple green with white trim, the walls painted pale apple green and the furniture white painted wood. Her daybed was pushed against the wall and topped by a fluffy white quilt and pillows and a cluster of white roses in a green glass vase perched atop her vanity as it gave off a faint scent. “Those are from the garden, they’ll only bloom until autumn and the first of the winters chills”, she explained.

“White roses for York, of course”, he teased.

“The White Rose is the symbol of Yorkshire, and I’m a proud Yorkshirewoman, Dickon. We may live in Lancaster but I don’t wear red roses”, she said. 

“Same here, very overrated flower”, he agreed.

Skye chuckled and walked over to the closet as she took out a guitar case. Richard watched as she placed the case atop the bed and opened to reveal a guitar made of polished golden wood with mother of pearl inlays around the soundhole and little dots on the headstock. “I’ve been playing guitar since I was a child, our school had a music program and I wanted to play guitar because I didn’t want to blow into anything. This is a D-28 CF Martin steel stringed guitar, I saved up for a year to buy it”, she said proudly.

“The Spaniards play that, I had lessons on the lute as a child but I much preferred fighting and training. What do you play?”, he asked.

“Old Yorkshire songs, folk music from the states. Perhaps you know this one”, she said. Skye checked the tunings on the headstock before she strummed a few chords, then played the opening notes to Scarborough Fair.

Richard listened to her play and sing, her slim fingers plucking the steel strings and the sound echoing in the room. Her light soprano was perfectly suited to the ballad as he watched with rapt attention, her head bent towards the guitar as the light turned her hair the colour of clover honey.”I have heard songs similar to that from the minstrels who came to Middleham, a knight or the devil asks a woman to perform impossible tasks. And you are from Scarborough, correct?”, he asked.

“Yes. It’s a favourite of mine since Scarborough is my hometown and there is a fair at Scarborough. And this is another favourite of mine, written by Bob Dylan who is American”, she said as she played Girl From the North Country.

“I love this song, beautiful! This Bob Dylan is very talented”, he said enthusiastically.

“He is, I have his albums. Let me show you”, she said.

Skye placed the guitar back in its case and went inside the closet to pull out a black wooden crate filled with records. “I don’t have many records, I prefer to play my guitar”, she said.

She flipped through the albums and took out Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan. “These are records, each has recorded music on them. My record player is in the closet, but I don’t want to wake up Ian”, she said with a chuckle.

“Of course not, a scholar needs their sleep”, he agreed.

Skye placed the crate back inside the closet and then the guitar as Richard got up from the bed. “It is late, Skye. Good night, my fair rose”, he said as he leaned over and kissed her forehead.


	8. Chapter 8

“Please tell me you finally have got yourself a boyfriend. It would be about time”, teased Elaine Williams.

Skye blushed as she helped herself to a cup of tea in the nurse’s station at North Manchester hospital. “I’m a bad liar, aren’t I. He’s an old family friend from Yorkshire, Richard Plaxton. He’s from Tadcaster but his Mum is Welsh, he has an odd accent”, she replied.

“Ooh, does he look like Tom Jones? Welsh men are so dreamy”, sighed Elaine.

“You ought to know, your Dad is Welsh from t’valleys. Yes, he has curly black hair and green eyes”, she said.

Skye sipped her tea and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her nurse’s hat was perched atop her blond hair done in a neat braid coiled atop her head, her uniform just slightly wrinkled from this morning’s duties. Elaine checked her own reflection and fixed her bun of dark brown hair before placing her cap back on top her head. “So when I can I meet him, it is Saturday after all”, she teased.d

“I teach Sunday school, Elaine. I can’t be out all night”, she reminded her.

“Of course not, Skye. But if you have a boyfriend, you ought to spend more time together”, she said.

“I know, but let’s see what time our shift ends”, she replied.

The women finished their tea and went back to the Accident and Emergency ward. The were soon busy dealing with the usual Saturday morning victims of Friday’s drunkenness, mainly a few people dealing with wicked hangovers and the results of drunken barfights. Skye was patient and pleasant with her patients, glad that she’d had her tea and that her white clogs were comfortable after having been worn in a month ago. “Now Mr. Garrison, remember you are not to have any alcohol for a week. You are still recovering from your stomach pump”, she said.

Mr. Garrison was a middle-aged man in black trousers and a blue rugby shirt under his blue paper hospital gown, his thinning brown hair concealed under a grey flat cap. He gave her a grin which revealed dentures and his brown eyes twinkled. “Aye, luv. ‘Course I’d take instructions from a pretty lass like you”, he said gallantly.

“I hope so, Mr. Garrison”, she chuckled as he went to take off the gown and check out of the hospital.

Skye was exhausted as she ended her shift around eight that night and bid good night to Elaine and reached into her purse for her car keys, taking the lift down to the employee car park in the basement. She peered inside the tiny green Isetta to make sure it was empty before she opened the doors and got in the driver’s seat, turning on the engine and putting on her seat belt. She left the hospital and drove southwards on the motorway towards Didsbury, the radio tuned to the BBC pop station as it played Like A Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan. She turned it up and sang along as she idly wondered if she could get tickets to a show on his next tour, even though he had been in that motorbike accident and she hoped he got better. 

Skye parked in the driveway and let herself inside, surprised to see Richard sitting on the couch watching Laurence Olivier’s performance of Richard III. She had a sinking sensation in her stomach and hoped he wasn’t angry, but when she walked over to him she was surprised he was laughing so hard tears fell down his face. “Skye, this is such rubbish! I cannot this, it is so funny! Apparently, I am a murderous hunchback, according to Master Shakespeare”, he choked out.

“It was written after your time, over a hundred years in fact. Shakespeare worked for the Tudors and the Tudors were Lancastrians so he had to make them look good. Only Elizabeth was a good ruler out of that lot, Tudor was an usurper, his son Henry had six wives and executed two of them, Edward was a sickly lad and Mary crazy”, she said.

“What, how did Tudor’s son have six wives? Us English don’t have harems”, said Richard.

“He divorced his first wife Catherine of Aragon because he didn’t have sons and claimed some Biblical verse, Anne Boleyn he executed under false charges of incest and infidelity, Jane Seymour died after giving birth to his son Edward, Anne of Cleves he divorced because he thought she was ugly, Catherine Howard he executed for treason and Catherine Parr outlived him”, she explained.

“I thought Tudor was a bastard, but his son sounds many times wore. Bessie was a such a sweet girl, the Tudor blood must have made their son evil”, he muttered.

“Perhaps. If it’s any consolation, the Tudor line ended with Elizabeth as she never married or had children”, said Skye.

“That’s what Bessie said, her mother put a curse on the killer of her sons that their line ends with a girl. I suppose Melusina answered their prayers”, said Richard with a grim chuckle.

“It’s not very Christian to think of such things, Dickon. Everyone went to the cinema?”, she asked.

“Yes. Alex wanted to see something called Django and Ian and Mrs. Sutherland went to see something called Khartoum”, he said.

“Django is a very violent film and Khartoum is about the British army. I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll prepare a little supper”, she said.

Richard nodded and watched as she walked up the stairs, his gaze on her shapely backside as a slow smile formed on his face. He had been along for barely an hour and he’d been watching Richard III on the telly. If he was supposed to be insulted by Olivier’s portrayal of him as a murderous hunchback, he could only watch with disbelief and then amusement. The ugly hunchback with an unquenchable thirst for power and no scruples was far removed from how he recognized himself that he had to laugh. Even towards the end with Oliver’s Richard surrounded by the ghosts of the people he killed and he was psychotic had him howling with laughter, knowing that he had killed anyone it was for a good reason.

Skye came back downstairs wearing jeans and a pink t-shirt with her hair nearly in a long braid nearly to her waist. “I have to get used to seeing women in trousers, but I quite like the view”, he chuckled.

“It’s very comfortable around the house. Would you really have cried out for a horse?”, she teased.

“Of course not, I would have asked for a sword or taken the nearest one and used it to brain someone. I have been unhorsed and used my sword to attack, Master Shakespeare must have not been a soldier”, he laughed.

Skye laughed as she headed to the kitchen. “Shakespeare was a country bumpkin from Warwickshire, but he wrote these plays based on all different sorts of history and set in other countries. He did a play about Julius Caesar, the Lancaster kings, several others set in Italy and one in Denmark at Elsinore. Some people believe he didn’t actually write his plays and a nobleman paid him to take the credit, because theatre was not respectable”, said Skye.

She went into the kitchen and looked inside the refrigerator, taking out a bowl of pierogies and a stick of butter. “Olga made these earlier, I taught her since this is a traditional Polish food. These are pierogies, dumplings with filling which one fries in butter”, she said.

Richard watched as she turned on the stove and added butter to a skillet as it melted, then added the dumplings as they began to sizzle. “I have heard of Poland but I have never met anyone from there, since it was far away. What is it like?”, he asked.

“I’m not sure, I’ve never been there. Mum’s family were nobles and their lands bordered Russia, after the last war they had to flee since the Bolsheviks were marching towards their territory and would have executed them and stolen everything. The Bolsheviks hated nobles and had much of the Russian royal family executed, since our family’s lands were on the Russian border they would have stolen everything and executed the family”, she replied.

“How horrid. I hope your family gets their lands and titles back”, he said.

Skye checked on the pierogies frying in the pan. “Probably not, the Bolsheviks stole everything and wrecked our family’s manor and what they didn’t steal the Nazis did. I’m quite happy living in England, Poland is a mess”, she said.

When the pierogies were done, Skye took out a little container of sour cream from inside the refrigerator and placed them on two plates before taking them over to the table. She took out a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the cupboard along with two glasses and poured them each a glass of wine as Richard pulled out a chair for her and then led them in saying grace. “This is amazing!”, he exclaimed.

“Thank you, it’s a simple Polish dish. You ought to thank Olga, I just taught her to make them”, she said modestly.

“Don’t be so modest, Skye. You are very beautiful, very intelligent and an excellent cook, you have a nurturing heart”, he said.

Skye took a sip of wine to cover up her blush. “I thank you, no one called me that before. I’ve wanted to be a nurse since I was a child, my aunt was a nurse during the war. And I didn’t want to go to uni just to fall pregnant by some bloke and have to get married. I believe in going to uni and taking it seriously, not just to find a husband”, she said.

“Of course”, he replied.

She cleared away the dishes and washed them before refilling their glasses. “One moment, Dickon”, she said.

Richard sipped his wine and watched as she went upstairs, returning several minutes later with a portable record player and three albums under her arm. “These are Dylan’s latest albums, he’s the only rock music I like”, she said.

He watched as she plugged in the device and removed a shiny black disk from one of the cardboard sleeves and placed it on the turntable before she dropped the needle. “This is Bringing It all Back Home, that’s when he got very interesting”, she chuckled.

Richard looked at the album cover and saw a man with curly brown hair who he presumed was Mr. Dylan and a dark-haired woman in a red dress who reclined on a couch. The opening notes of Subterranean Homesick Blues came over the speakers as he looked startled. “The music is recorded onto the disk, sort of bottling the music. This is more people can hear it”, she explained.

Richard nodded in understanding as the music played. The song’s shambling rhythm and Dylan’s nasally voice were hard to comprehend at first but he got used to as Skye leaned against him on the couch. Richard was surprised but he put an arm around her waist as a pink blush formed on her cheeks, the end of her braid resting on his arm. He reached for the end of her braid and rubbed the bit of hair between his thumb and forefinger and felt the warmth of her body against his, the faint scent of rose drifting from her hair. 

Skye felt very warm and her cheeks were still pink as he played with the end of her braid. “Anne had similar coloured hair, but hers was darker. And yours smells of roses”, he murmured.

“Uh, thank you”, she mumbled.

“I believe you have never been courted before, Skye. I intend to remedy that”, he whispered.

Skye was still as Richard pulled her closer to him and gently tilted her face towards him. The intensity in his eyes turned them a vivid dark green like pine needles as he leaned over and kissed her lips. The soft contact made her heart rate spike and a little moan escaped her lips as he deepened the kiss.

Richard reluctantly broke the kiss and chuckled at her flushed cheeks and her hazy hazel eyes. “Was that your kiss, my fair rose?”, he teased.

“Yes, Ian can be quite the protective brother”, she laughed.

Richard just winked at her and leaned over to kiss her again. This time Skye was ready and she returned the kiss as he groaned against her lips. She ran her fingers through his dark curls and he growled in approval as they exchanged hungry kisses all the while Dylan played in the background.

Richard broke the kiss as his heart still pounded furiously in his chest. “I have not kissed a woman since Anne, it has been too long”, he murmured.

“We must be careful, I think I like this too much”, she said with a rueful chuckle.

“Naughty girl. But I understand, back in my time you would have already been married for a long while and yet you have never been courted by a man. I will have to take my time, but it won’t be easy”, he sighed.

“Just as well, tomorrow we go to Mass at St. Catherine of Siena. Ian and Olga go to the Greek church since they are both Orthodox Christians. Pierre’s brother is the priest at our church and I teach my Sunday school class before the morning Mass”, she said.

“Good, I was wondering about being mistaken for a heathen. Is the church still the same?”, he asked.

“Most of it, except the Mass is in English and some of the priests are foreign. But Father Jean is a kindly man, you have had your sacraments?”, she asked.

“Of course”, he retorted. 

“A lot of people now don’t, they believe religion is old-fashioned. Especially in London and among the young”, she said.

“Terrible. Luckily I have found myself around Christian people”, he teased.

“Of course, that is one of the rules of Sol Duga. All of us must have a religion, preferably Catholicism but the Jarvinens are pagan. They’re from Finland and practice the old religion, Finns are not a religions people. They do not worship idols”, she said, seeing the look on his face.

“I’m sorry, but witchcraft was a serious offense in our time. And that is legal now?”, he asked.

“Yes, Britain has freedom of religion so people can have any religion or none. Around the North, many people are Catholics and others are Protestants and in the cities there’s other religions. They are Christians but a different sort, they don’t have the Pope as their leader and their priests marry. And there’s also Jews and non-Christians”, she said.

“I want to see that for myself”, he said.

“You will, Dickon”, she replied


	9. Chapter 9

Richard looked at his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie, still getting used to his hair being just above his ears. “If you were in California in the states, it would look all right but here in England men don’t have long hair”, Ian had explained.

“This is the only time you’ll ever catch me wearing a tie”, muttered Alexei as he fixed his own tie.

“You should see how we dressed in my time, Alexei. And I also wore armor”, teased Richard.

“Ugh. And when school starts I have to wear my uniform, at least it doesn’t have short pants like a little boy’s”, said Alexei.

They went downstairs where Olga and Skye had cleared away the last of the breakfast dishes. “I’ll see you there”, said Skye as she picked up her guitar case.

“You look lovely, Skye”, said Richard gallantly.

“Thank you, Dickon. But remember we are going to the house of the Lord”, she teased. Skye wore a mid-calf navy blue wool skirt and a white blouse, her blond hair in two braids nearly to her waist.

“Stop staring, Richard”, teased Ian as the other man put a hand on his shoulder.

Richard blushed guiltily. “It is normal, is it not? Skye is a very beautiful woman and my betrothed”, he said.

“Informally, yes. You still need to buy a ring. Tomorrow I’ll get some admissions forms so you can start uni, perhaps in January”, said Ian.

“I hope so”, he replied.

Everyone finished getting ready and walked outside to the driveway. “Olga, Alexei and I attend a Greek church in Manchester so we’ll be coming home later”, explained Ian.

“We were raised Catholic but Ian converted to the Greek church whilst at uni since he’s a big admirer of the Greek culture. Olga and Alexei were raised in the Greek church”, said Skye as she opened the door to the Isetta.

“I just find it queer that an Englishman would want to worship in the Greek church, it’s so very different from ours. And I never met anyone who was a member”, he said as he got in the passenger’s side.

Skye nodded in understanding as she got in the driver’s side and turned on the engine. “I suppose in your time everyone in England was Catholic. Britain has freedom of religion which means that anyone can worship how they want, or not go to church”, she said.

Skye parked in the lot behind St. Catherine of Alexandria church and waved when she saw Pierre with Maria and baby Michael. Pierre wore a simple charcoal grey suit and a white shirt with matching tie while Maria wore a royal blue cotton dress with a Peter Pan collar and matching blue shoes and a handbag, Nicole in a pink gingham dress and Michael in his pram wearing a miniature grey suit with his dark hair neatly combed as he looked up at Richard with big blue eyes. “Good to see you, Master and Mistress Lacroix. And your son looks marvelous”, he said.

“Merci, and please call us Pierre and Maria, it sounds odd. My brother Jean is the priest here at St. Catherine’s, you’ll meet him later”, said Pierre.

“I’ll see you during the mass”, said Skye as she took her guitar and headed into the church basement. She went into her classroom while the children sat around her in a circle, the guitar in her lap. Skye took attendance and went over the previous week’s lesson for the first week of the First Communion class and drilled the children on their prayers. “You did a good job today, poppets. Now let us sing, I want to hear your voices”, she said as she began to play Morning Has Broken.

The childrens’ families were in the adjacent room drinking tea and chatting with the other parishioners. Richard smiled politely at the other people and was relieved to see Pierre and Maria with their children along with Juan and Anastasia as he came over. “You don’t like meeting new people?”, asked Pierre.

“Yes, already some of the ladies have been trying to have me court their daughters”, said Richard with a grimace. 

“Just let them see you with Skye, once they see you’re taken they’ll leave you alone”, said Pierre.

“And how are you, Maria?”, he asked.

“Fine at the moment, Mr. Plaxton. I always wanted children and these two can be a handful”, she laughed.

Richard saw Skye and the children as they emerged from her classroom and went over to their parents. “Dad, I really liked the class today. Tyotya Skye read to us the story of the Good Samaritan”, said Nicole.

“Glad to hear that, Nikasha”, said Pierre.

“Mr. Plaxton, doesn’t Tyotya Skye play guitar and sing really good?”, asked Nicole.

“Yes she does, Miss Lacroix. And your dress is very pretty, my daughter once had a pink dress as well”, said Richard.

Nicole giggled and twirled the skirt of her pink gingham dress. Richard sighed and thought of the pink brocade gown he had the seamstress make for his daughter Katherine for Easter celebrations at Middleham, the wonder on her face and how she had hugged him tight. 

Skye came over holding her guitar case as she set it aside in the corner and went to get a cup of tea. “The Mass starts in fifteen minutes”, she said.

Richard nodded and took a sip of tea from a waxed paper cup. “Not bad, but I prefer the tea at home”, he said.

Skye chuckled as she added a wedge of lemon and one sugar to her tea. “Same here. Would you like Father Jean to introduce you to the congregation?”, she asked.

“No thank you, Skye. I’m not good at meeting people, I learned to endure it”, he sighed.

Skye nodded and took a sip of her tea. “People here can be a bit too friendly at times, this is a small church after all. But people here are friendly, us Northerners aren’t cold like the people down t’south. If this was London or the Home Counties, then the people wouldn’t be as friendly”, she laughed.

Everyone finished their tea and went upstairs for the Mass. The scent of beeswax candles and incense filled the air as people found their seats in the pews. Father Jean spoke with the organist, his green and gold robes worn over a white suit. Like his brother Pierre, he was tall and muscular with wavy black hair and an olive complexion. He glanced over in their direction and smiled, his bluish-purple eyes shining from behind his glasses. 

Richard returned the smile and followed the families to their pew as he looked around. Unlike the gloomy chapels at Ludlow and Middleham, the church was light and airy with electric lights and sunlight reflected through the stained glass windows which depicted various Biblical scenes. The dome above the altar depicted Mary’s assumption into heaven, the Virgin in flowing white and blue robes and wearing a crown of stars while surrounded by angels. The background of the dome was painted a vivid sky blue with delicate swirls of clouds and it appeared to be illuminated by brilliant sunlight reflected from the windows as he knelt and crossed himself before he sat in the pew.

Skye watched how quiet he was at the end of the sermon and squeezed his hand. “You haven’t been in a while?”, she asked.

“The priest did a service before the battle but I was not paying attention, I was too busy thinking about the battle. This is the first service where I paid attention”, he said.

“I see. I have to go to the hospital now, hopefully I’ll be back in time for Sunday roast. Could you bring my guitar home?”, she asked.

“Of course, Skye”, he replied.

“Thank you so much, Dickon”, she said, giving him a hug and kissing his cheek.

Richard beamed and his cheeks were flushed as he watched Skye walk outside towards the car park. “Don’t forget the guitar, Dickon”, teased Pierre.

“Of course”, he retorted as the smile remained plastered to his face.

“Father Jean, this is friend Richard Plaxton”, said Pierre.

Father Jean smiled kindly at Richard and shook his hand, his purple eyes all-knowing behind his glasses. “I hope you enjoyed the service, Mr. Plaxton. How are you liking Manchester?”, he asked.

“I am liking it so far, Father. Even though I’m from Yorkshire and this is Lancaster territory”, he quipped.

“Yes, we are on the other side of the Pennines. Have a blessed day”, said Father Jean.


End file.
